


Dissonance

by Tate



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Musicians, F/M, the band au no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-09 19:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8908504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tate/pseuds/Tate
Summary: Recording artist Ben Solo is hiding behind the pseudonym "Kylo Ren" in order to escape connection with the Skywalker dynasty that has dominated the music scene for the better part of a century. Though he wants nothing more than to emulate his grandfather, the notorious Anakin Skywalker (performing later under the moniker "Darth Vader") who switched from JEDI to SITH Records in search of greater creative control, and he doesn't really care for his songstress grandmother, Padmé, of the Naboo label, the real difficulty lies with his parents: Leia Organa and Han Solo, the lead guitarist and the bassist of famous rock group Millennium Falcon. Signed to Starkiller Records instead of his mother's own label, Resistance, Ben finds himself working alongside producer Hux and manager Phasma, headlining festivals like Takodana and the Base. Then all hell breaks lose: Resistance's new signing, Aviator Jacket – comprised of Rey, Finn, Poe, and some genius mixing software that Rey invented and named after Poe's pet corgi – steals Kylo Ren's closing slot.





	1. i. red

**(i. red)**

When he slams his fist against the truck’s sound system, Phasma – who, along with having to manage the unpredictable (though fortunately rather talented) fire-starter known to the public as “Kylo Ren” (and known to the intimate as, well, usually the same thing, but occasionally “Ben”, if you were, like, his mom), had drawn the short straw and been forced to act as driver for the long trip to the Takodana Festival grounds – sighs loudly.

            In the back seat, Hux, the producer behind most of Kylo’s music, flinches. “You know what, Ren?” he says a moment later through gritted teeth.

            “What?” the musician snaps.

            “You practically destroying every car the label sets us up with isn’t as endearing as you seem to think. Especially not since it always ends up being the radios that take the brunt of your little tantrums.” Hux glances out the window. “You’d think hearing an old _Millennium Falcon_ track might’ve done you some good – wouldn’t it be your ideal family reunion?”

            Phasma almost swerves into oncoming traffic when Ben unbuckles his seatbelt and lunges into the back seat at Hux. He’s barely landed one punch when Phasma pulls him, one-handed, by the leather jacket, and pushes him back into the passenger seat. Hux, Ben notices in the rear-vision mirror, is glowering. There’s already swelling on his cheek. Ben hopes feebly that Hux’s skin goes redder than his hair.

            He’d deserve it, after what he said. There’s a reason Kylo Ren exists, why Ben’s built that persona up around himself, why he practically never performs without even a pair of sunglasses to obscure his face. (He used to wear a full on mask, but people accused him of lip syncing; he’d moved on to a hat, but it made his ears stick out even more, and Hux had told him that he looked like an idiot, so he’d got rid of that, too. Thanks to his new affair with sunglasses – and the initial mask and that goddamn hat – no fan, critic, or nonchalant concert guest has seen his face fully, in the entirety of his performing career.)

            He doesn’t look _that_ much like his parents, so he could probably get away with not trying to hide his identity at all, but people had been following his family around forever, trying to get pictures, so Ben didn’t want to be immediately linked to them.

            Thirty-odd years ago, Han Solo and Leia Organa had been part of the biggest music group in the world. _Millennium Falcon_ had been everywhere, had everything. With Leia on lead guitar, Han on bass, Ben’s uncle Luke on vocals, and Han’s weird, foreign partner-in-crime (the band called him “Chewie”, and everyone else called him “Chewbacca”, and no one knew if that was his first name or his last name or just random sounds strung together) on drums, _Millennium Falcon_ had been surefire stars. They were a phenomenon, unstoppable – the perfect mix of punk rock and indie (Chewie was also really into folk, which influenced their third album, _Endor_ ).

            It helped that Leia and Luke had two famous parents, too. The Skywalkers had dominated the music industry for a good half-century. The twins responded quite differently to the legacy their parents – their father, in particular – had left behind. Luke never shied away from being a Skywalker, but Leia went by the surname “Organa”. She didn’t seem to want anything to do with her father’s fame. (Bitterly, in the deepest part of his mind, Ben thinks he and his mother have this in common.)

            Anakin Skywalker had started off as the golden boy of then-contemporary music. He was signed to _JEDI_ , a laid-back, forward-thinking and wildly successful label. It was a recipe for success, especially since _JEDI_ worked closely with its sister company _Naboo_ , and there were stories of collaborations between Anakin and the sweet-voiced songstress Padmé Amidala. Then things started to go wrong. Every label wanted Anakin, and he’d grown tired of the image _JEDI_ was having him present. _SITH_ , in particular, _JEDI_ ’s biggest rival, swooped in hard and fast, promising Anakin all of the artistic freedom he desired. Of course, seduced by the power they promised him, Anakin departed the _JEDI_ label and went straight into recording with _SITH_. His whole image changed – concealed by a veil of darkness at all times, illuminated solely by flashes of neon light – and so did his sound: voice modulation, heavy instrumentals – danger in its tone (danger in Anakin). Professionally, he marketed himself as “Darth Vader”, as though the boy he had been at the beginning of his career had never existed.

            Hope seemed to spring eternal for early Anakin fans when it surfaced that he and Padmé Amidala’s supposed working relationship had very little to do with work. The pair had been secretly married, and Padmé was pregnant with twins – two new Skywalkers. It then became apparent just how much the switch from _JEDI_ to _SITH_ had changed Anakin (or perhaps a more appropriate term is “awakened”). Reports of domestic abuse spread like wildfire, alcoholism and substance abuse in their wake. By the time Luke and Leia were six months old, both parents had met their untimely demise – Anakin, staring down the barrel of a gun as his label’s exec pulled the trigger, and Padmé, weeks later, upon realizing that the man she loved was well and truly gone.

            Ben hates that the family narrative he’s had painted for him sounds exactly like an _E! True Hollywood Story_ , and he hates even more that he never had the chance to meet his grandparents. He’s never listened much to Padmé’s music; people tell him all the time that her love songs were the best ones, and no one’s ever mentioned her experimental, political album (simply entitled _Senators and Queens_ ), so Ben doesn’t even know if he believes it exists. His grandfather, however… Ben has all of Darth Vader’s albums in digital copies and on vinyl. He’d probably never admit it, but the sole reason he had asked his parents for a record player on his seventeenth birthday was so he could play _The Imperial March_. He hasn’t listened to the tracks his grandfather released with _JEDI_ since he was about ten and had to sit through all of them when Uncle Luke used to give him vocal lessons and tried to bond with him. Ben shudders at the memory.

            His own artistic image is much owed to Darth Vader, really. They share the same trademark color – black – and Ben always includes the sword-shaped red lights on his album art as a shout-out to his grandfather.

            The grandfather nobody knows Kylo Ren has.

            If Hux hates it when Ben smashes _Millennium Falcon_ hits into the silent smithereens they deserve, he hates it even more when even the least commercially successful Darth Vader tune is blasted loud enough to burst eardrums half a mile away. Phasma’s taken to wearing an entire motorbike helmet most of the time. Ben thinks that she must actually own a motorbike when she’s not organizing his life and driving him around. (But he doesn’t like thinking about his colleagues outside of work, so he nips that thought in the bud as soon as he thinks it.)

            “ _Ren_ ,” Phasma is saying loudly, when Ben escapes the _Rolling Stone_ article that is the Skywalker family legacy.

            “What?” he snaps. He tends to snap.

            “The lineup for the Takodana,” Phasma replies coolly. “I’m sure you know who’s on it.”

            Ben shrugs, slumping down in his seat and staring out the window.

            “Stop acting like a child,” continues Phasma. “And buckle your damn seatbelt – you’re a musician, not an anarchist.”

            Hux snorts. “Isn’t he aiming to be both?”

            “ _I’ll fucking kill you, Hux_ – ”

            Phasma takes one hand off the wheel and slams it into Ben before he can reach back to Hux. “Nobody is going to _fucking kill_ anyone,” she says sharply. “Snoke is counting on you to pull off this festival performance without a hitch, and for the sake of your careers, I suggest you do _Starkiller Records_ proud.”

            Ben sets his jaw, still staring out the window. After some pointed throat clearing from Phasma, he reluctantly buckles his seatbelt.

*

“You seem to have neglected to tell me that we lost our closing slot to one of my mom’s new signings.”

            Phasma turns to Ben, whose knuckles are white where they’re clenched into fists, and looks him directly in the eye. “I thought you might react the way you usually do when I mention your family. That always goes one of two ways.”

            Ben glares at her. “ _Two ways?_ ”

            Phasma shrugs, taking one last look at the program for the festival and then using one of _Starkiller Records_ ’ shiny black pens to sign their act in. “Sometimes you destroy cars and their sound systems, and sometimes you break down and cry.”

            Rage swelling inside him, Ben takes a step closer to Phasma. “ _I do not._ ”

            “You do,” Phasma replies, not remotely intimidated. “Now get your act together, or I’ll have to remind Hux of that fact. Don’t you think he’d have a field day?”

            Grumbling, Ben goes to cross his arms, but he pauses when the door of the green room swings open. The space, previously occupied only by himself and Phasma and several important pieces of paperwork, is now to be shared with three new musicians, all of whom look extremely happy with themselves. The one who entered first – the one who threw open the door, Ben notes – is a stereotypically handsome guy about his age, with tousled hair and an obvious penchant for orange (an orange jumpsuit is a serious commitment for anyone to make, let alone look good in – especially with that bulky white vest). He seems familiar, but Ben can’t place him. Following, hand in hand with the first band member, is another man – younger, this time, but no less smiley (perhaps even more so). The second man, clad in head to toe black, seems like the kind of person who has their own personal source of sunshine. While Ben would usually appreciate this guy’s aesthetic choices, he’s in no position to be complimenting anyone who shares a sentence with the word “sunshine”. Probably not anyone who chooses to be holding hands with a guy as cookie cutter handsome as Orange McTousled, either.

            The third member of the party – and Ben is sure they would _love_ to be called that – strikes him as much less obnoxiously optimistic than Smiles and his boyfriend. As soon as Ben lays eyes on the jacket draped around her shoulders, though, realizes she is of the same brand as the two before her. A brand specifically associated with the record label his mom started up a few years back, when the two of them weren’t talking. (Ben ignores the fact that they are still _not talking_.)

            The girl’s jacket is far too big, and would be a much better fit on either of the men in her company. It’s light brown, with red accents – an aviator jacket, and Ben finds that ridiculously gimmicky, especially since they chose to name their stupid bubblegum pop band after the fact they all share that one item of clothing. No, the third member of _Aviator Jacket_ – the band who just stole the closing slot that rightfully belonged to him – does not smile the same way the other two do. She’s cautious, guarded, even here, where they are quite literally the talk of the town. Her dark hair is pulled back into three buns, though wisps have fallen away and now frame a face Ben recognizes as resolutely strong, harsh, beautiful.

            Plain, he decides. That’s what he meant.

            No more and no less than You’re Never Fully Dressed Without A Smile and his unrealistically attractive partner, Asshole, Lord Orangeson.

            Asshole, Lord Orangeson, clears his throat, apparently wondering who is meant to talk first in the awkward stand-off they’ve fallen into, and Ben’s gaze is pulled from the girl who is at least two sizes too small for her jacket. He slips his shades on.

            “Is that the sign-in sheet?” Prince Charming But Wearing Orange asks, pointing to the paper in Phasma’s hand with the one of his that isn’t tangled in Grinny’s. (Ben decides that he shouldn’t be aggressively nicknaming them, because he’s not fourteen anymore.)

            Phasma nods, passing it to him.

            Prince Charming thanks her, drops Happy’s hand and moves to shake Phasma’s, then Ben’s. He’s disappointed, yet not surprised, when the Prince’s handshake is firm. “I’m Poe, Poe Dameron.” _Ah, so he’s the infamous guitarist Ben’s mother’s been working with for years. That’s how Ben knows his face._ “This is Finn” – he points to the boyfriend, who seems to recognize them both and now looks somewhat strained – “and Rey” – to the girl, who perfectly balances curious and unaffected.

            (Ben would never admit he doesn’t even come close to balancing them – not when he’s looking at the girl. _Rey._ )

            (Perhaps the amount of curiosity he feels about her balances his unaffectedness towards the two others.)

            “Pleasure to meet you,” Phasma says, though the tone of her voice indicates otherwise. She turns to Finn. “Is the _Resistance_ group treating you well?”

            Finn looks visibly uncomfortable and Poe’s jaw clenches. Ben notices Rey’s eyebrows knit together, like she’s confused as to why Phasma would ask such a thing. Ben’s surprised he didn’t recognize Phasma’s ex-intern sooner – he would have thought someone so obnoxiously well-natured would be harder to forget.

            “Clearly,” Finn replies after a momentary pause. “I’m here, aren’t I? Performing at _Takodana_?”

            Rey takes a look at the copy of the festival’s program, squinting slightly to see the smaller writing, trying to make a point of letting Ben know it’s not him she’s staring at, but the paper to his right.

            “Did you two know we were closing the festival?” she asks of her band mates, in an accent Ben would probably have been surprised by if he weren’t constantly surrounded by the British.

            Poe breaks out into the kind of smile Ben suspects he will soon spot on the cover of every magazine. “ _No_ – Leia must’ve taken care of that for us _herself!_ ”

            Rey raises an eyebrow, stepping closer to the large sheet of paper on the wall, and – with it – closer to Ben. “I thought Han was the one with the Takodana contacts.”

            If nobody had noticed him stiffen at the sound of his mother’s name, it’s a wonder they don’t notice him react to his father’s. Perhaps Han _is_ the one with the Takodana contacts. It would explain why Kylo Ren’s performance has been demoted to the penultimate slot.

            Rey brushes past him and runs her finger down the lineup, clearly not concerned about their proximity. They haven’t been formally introduced, but people tend to recognize him – and Hux’s international appeal means Kylo Ren’s music has cracked Europe – yet this girl… she walks past him like he’s nothing.

            “I don’t understand,” she says, and for all he knows, she could be speaking his mind. “I read the lineup – we weren’t in that slot.”

            Ben’s jaw tightens.

            “We’ve switched places w – ”

            “ – with Kylo Ren?” Ben interrupts her.

            She looks up, her eyes wide, apparently noticing him for the first time. She opens her mouth to say something, but closes it again. He’s about to speak when she decides to.

            “So you’re the monster behind the mask.”

            Ben doesn’t turn to fully face her, simply removing his shades and pocketing them. He directs his eyes to meet hers. “Depends on who you talk to.” He tilts his head in Poe’s direction. “That one, definitely.”

            Finn clears his throat and Rey’s slightly widened eyes dart away, to him. Ben’s follow a couple of moments later.

            “We should go, Rey.”

            Poe has finished signing them in, and Phasma is answering emails on her smart phone. The former glances at Ben, squaring his jaw – which, really, was already perfectly square (Ben kind of hates him). He realizes with a jolt that Poe knows who his family is – knows that one of them, be it Leia or Han, convinced Takodana’s organizer, Maz Kanata, to alter the lineup last minute. Ben’s half tempted to rip Poe’s tongue out, then and there, right in front of his boyfriend and the girl stepping out of the shadow Ben’s cast on her.

            He doesn’t know what prompts him to say it, but – “It was nice to meet you, Rey.”

            With the group’s shared jacket around her shoulders, and one of her hands resting warmly in Finn’s free one, she spares one look back at him, over her shoulder as _Aviator Jacket_ departs.

            “I’m not sure I agree yet,” is the only response she gives him.

*

The next time Ben catches a glimpse of Rey, sans aviator jacket this time, both in the sense of clothing and in music, is when she’s lying half under the silver 1977 Volkswagen Kombi Westfalia that used to belong to his dad.

            He is blissfully free of Hux and Phasma, who have gone up to their rooms at the performers’ hotel, and is tempted to use this solitude to his advantage. He’s not sure how long he stands in front of the Kombi, watching the vehicle and the lower half of Rey’s body as she tinkers away – he’s stuck there, really, rooted to the spot; he didn’t think he’d ever be seeing the van again – but when Rey pulls herself out from under the vehicle, she’s shadowed by his dark silhouette.

            “Can I help you with something?” she asks curtly.

            “You seem to know a lot about cars.”

            “You seem to know a lot about conversation.” (She says this in a tone that implies the opposite.)

            Ben doesn’t move back as she stands. She’s got her hands on her hips – there’s a Swiss Army knife in one and a grease-covered hand towel in the other. She’s got a smudge of grease on her right cheek, too. Ben almost wants to wipe it away (he hears his father’s voice in his head, saying something like, “she’d deck you, kid”), but he decides it gives her character. _Then_ he decides that he’ll never let himself think anything gives anyone _character_ ever again, because it just about makes him throw up.

            “Was it a problem with the air conditioning?”

            Rey takes the hand towel and rubs a corner of it gruffly over the grease on her cheek. “Compressors,” she says shortly, like she doesn’t understand why he cares. “The van belongs to Leia’s husband, Han – you’ve probably heard of _Millennium Falcon_?” (If she were to look at him properly, she’d notice his clenched fists.) “Anyway, the boys and I have got it for the weekend because I’m in the middle of souping it up. Han’s skeptical that the mods won’t last the trip, and this is me making sure I prove him wrong.”

            She talks about Ben’s father like he’s hers. Of course, she isn’t to know that _Kylo Ren’s_ mother is the one who signed _Aviator Jacket_ , and that _Kylo Ren’s_ father lent his most prized possession – in which he spent most of the 70s and early 80s, really – to some girl who happened to be doing it up. She isn’t to know that Han’s own son was barely ever permitted to touch it.

            “The sunglasses are back on,” Rey notes, startling Ben from his daydream as she moves away to open up the passenger door and shove her mechanic gear into the glove box.

            “What? Oh – yeah – I – ”

            “Is it an appearance thing?” She shoves the Kombi’s door closed and moves back around to Ben, something wary alight in her eyes. He feels like she’s seeing into his soul and wishes for the reverse. “Are you trying to keep up a separation between art and artist? Or were you just a few years late to join _Darth Punk_?”

            Ben clenches his jaw. “Cute.”

            “I’m just _asking_.” She presses her hands together. “If it _is_ an appearance thing, I don’t think it’s worth worrying about.” Ben must look confused, because she explains, “People can already see a tall guy with broad shoulders and big arms and dark hair – there are probably blogs dedicated to your cheekbones and, _I don’t know_ , the _moles_ on your face – d’you really think your fans realizing their Synth Lord’s got puppy dog eyes would change anything?”

            Ben blinks at her a few times, an indefinable feeling located somewhere between rage and butterflies shooting through him. He snaps back, “Well, why do _you_ wear that stupid aviator jacket?”

            She furrows her eyebrows, almost taken aback. When she speaks again, it seems her walls are up. “It was Poe’s when he was in the Air Force. He gave it to Finn and Finn gave it to me, and now we just keep giving it to each other.”

            Ben chuckles. There’s next to no mirth in it. “Like a bad disease?”

            Rey doesn’t smile. “Like a _family_.”

            (To Ben, it seems the two are one in the same.)

            She’s turned away by the time he says, “Was it weird when two thirds of the family started getting _more_ familiar?”

            She stops in her tracks. “ _Why?_ ” she snaps, whirling back venomously. “Worried Hux and Phasma get along too well?”

            Ben doesn’t know why he taunts her – she reduces him to childish petulance, and he hates it. Hates _her_ , very nearly.

            “Nothing changed,” she says after a moment. “Whatever changed between Finn and Poe – and I’m not sure how big a change it was, really – didn’t change anything about my relationship with them.”

            Ben can’t think of anything to say except for an immature, “Well, that’s good.” Only it doesn’t come out that genuine and Rey just glowers at him.

            She locks the Kombi. “Yes, it is.”

            She storms off and Ben isn’t quite sure how that could have gone any better.

*

Ben doesn’t much feel like heading down to the hotel restaurant when dinnertime rolls around. He’s lying on his back on top of the covers of the gigantic bed in his room, and Phasma called by earlier when she and Hux were trying to decide where to eat (Ben hates being around the two of them for too long – it feels like a goddamn British invasion – and he’s had enough accents to last him a lifetime), but he hadn’t wanted to join them. There’s a knock on the door and he drops the TV remote he’d been playing with.

            He peeks through the spyhole and it’s room service. Phasma must’ve ordered it for him. He slides his sunglasses on, a reflex.

*

Sound check for the Takodana main stage has to take place before the festival even begins, so that once the weekend’s in full swing, the techies know exactly how to handle the quick transitions. It’s unlike any other venue Ben – or, rather, _Kylo Ren_ – has ever played, and this is down to the forward thinking of Maz Kanata, the tiny bespectacled woman who commands every last foot of the concert ground. (If Ben’s honest, Maz scares him a little. She’s way too astute – _and_ she knows his parents.)

            Kylo Ren’s set is one song from done when _Aviator Jacket_ shows up. Ben’s heart seems to be beating out of his throat, for some indefinable reason. It’s either the fact that he’s run into the same damn girl three times in one and a half days, completely without meaning to, or that Poe Dameron’s whispering something in Rey’s ear, his eyes locked on Ben all the while. They’re off in the wings and he’s at the center of the stage, so Ben can’t make out what Poe is saying – his quick glances off to the side aren’t particularly giving, and the silver-and-black-striped frames of his sunglasses don’t help – but he’s hoping to all hell it isn’t _Kylo Ren’s a Solo – Leia’s boy_. He can’t read Rey’s expression, and Hux is at his station firing out their final track. It’s almost Ben’s cue, so he forces Rey out of his head, and tries to convince himself he wrote these angry lyrics about his father.

*

Ben stays behind when Hux leaves, giving the excuse that he wants to see what kind of talent his mother is signing these days. It’s true enough. Part of him thinks that he’ll be satisfied when _Aviator Jacket_ begins to play and it’s nothing but generic pop. They’ll be easier to write off, then. He won’t keep thinking about Rey.

            She’s on him like a bad disease, and they’ve spoken all of twice.

            (He feels sick and weak and childish. He nearly resorts to hitting himself, he hates it so.)

            The problem is, once Rey and Finn and Poe have their instruments and microphones and mixing station set up, they’re not bubblegum pop at all.

            Rey plays a pale, sandy-colored bass guitar and sings like she’s brimming with sugar syrup. Her voice is bright and fresh and clear, amplified even more by Poe’s harmonies. He’s all acoustic melodies and a velvet voice. He’s got two types of guitar onstage: the electric one hangs back, leaning against the mixing station, a little way along from Finn. Finn plays the saxophone, of all things, and by the looks of it, there’s a trumpet there, too.

            What really takes _Aviator Jacket_ to the next level, though, is its mixing software. Named after Poe’s corgi, designed by Rey, and currently in its eighth cycle of updates, is BB. _Well_ … BB-8. Ben has to Google this later, because he’s got no idea how a mixing station works without someone manning it (and because if he can figure out how to do it he can get rid of Hux indefinitely), but BB-8 is what _makes_ the band. The electronic mix contrasts perfectly with Rey and Poe’s silken duet, Finn’s jazz and funk roots rounding the whole thing out.

            Ben hates how much he’s actually enjoying this.

            It’s not so different from his sound, really – except his bass line is louder, clashes with the electric guitar he uses on most tracks. Lyrically, they could be two sides of the same coin.

            He notices the designs on Rey’s microphone and almost vomits.

            He’d know that logo anywhere – he’d almost got it tattooed on his shoulder when he was nineteen – _Skywalker_. It used to decorate Anakin’s microphone, then Luke’s, and now – now it’s _here_ – inches away from the mouth of the girl who won’t get out of Ben’s head. But _she’s_ not a Skywalker. He’d know if she was. He’d know if Luke had had a daughter, or a son.

            A _protégée_ , however…

            Ben pushes the thought from his mind. He hates the girl. She’s waltzed into a life that should have belonged to him and scavenged everything within it. She works with his mother, seems to have trained with his uncle, and modifies his father’s favorite car in her spare time. How _dare_ she? Doesn’t she know that the life she’s living isn’t hers to live? How can she do this when the natural born Solo, the natural born _Skywalker_ , is standing mere feet away? How can she not be aware of what she’s doing to him? And why the _fuck_ does he like her band so much?

            Halfway through the _Aviator Jacket_ sound check, Ben storms out and doesn’t return.

*

There’s a sense of purposeful distance that surrounds Ben over the next couple of days. Of course, he’s busy, once the festival officially starts, and he doesn’t care for any of the acts playing the first or second day. He spends most of the time with Hux and Phasma, or in his room, or at the gym. One morning, the day of his performance (and _Aviator Jacket_ ’s), he sees Rey with one of the exercise balls over by the bike machine, so he turns on his heel and leaves. He writes three songs over the next few hours but he tears them all up once they start to sound like desire.

            By the time he and Hux arrive backstage, Phasma at their heels, Ben’s confident that the three of them look incapable of such base emotion. His vision’s tinted by his signature sunglasses, the rest of his wardrobe black to match. Hux runs along the same vein, admittedly dressed with slightly more traditional class than Kylo Ren. Phasma’s jumpsuit looks like steel and her burgundy lipstick could very easily be blood.

            _Aviator Jacket_ will look like children by comparison. People will wonder how such an upstart act wound up closing a festival. _Starkiller Records_ ’ biggest act will decimate them – blow them out of the water completely. Ben contents himself with a small smirk at the pun – _Starkiller_ will kill their chances before they’re even allowed to consider themselves stars. (And his father will decide that, you know what, at least one of them can fix up cars for a living, since the whole music thing hasn’t worked out. Maybe Poe will go back to the Air Force, and Finn can get a job in, like, social services. In the back of his mind, Ben sees Rey’s hand in Finn’s and decides that maybe the guy would be better off as a janitor.)

            Okay, so maybe he can’t stop thinking about the girl.

            In the seconds before he enters the stage, Ben entertains the thought of his lyrics rolling off her tongue.

*

“You must be Leia Organa’s new recruits…” (Ben tries his hardest not to punch Hux’s perfect teeth in. How _dare_ he try to make idle conversation with _Aviator Jacket_ , not two minutes before they go onstage? And mention Ben’s _mother_ , no less – as soon as he’d finished his set!) “Interesting.”

            Poe, the group’s de facto leader, reaches out and shakes Hux’s hand. “Poe.” He points along the group and names them, just as he did upon meeting Ben a few days earlier.

            Poe has forgone the overwhelming orange in favor of dark brown cargo-style pants and a light brown shirt, unbuttoned at the top. Ben is reminded, with disgust, of his father. Poe’s wearing the eponymous aviator jacket, too, leaving Finn in his uniform black turtleneck and a matching pair of jeans.

            Despite his efforts to ignore her, Ben notices Rey, too, in a tank top and shorts that look slightly too big, which she’s rolled up to her knees. Accompanied by the wrap type thing she’s wearing and the pair of boots on her feet, each garment appears as though it could have been white once, but has experienced significant weathering since then. Perhaps it’s a grunge thing. After all, they seem a similar sandy color to her bass guitar, slung over her back.

            “Time to go,” is all she says, cutting off the backhanded pleasantries Hux is attempting to instigate. Then she grabs Finn’s hand, and Finn grabs Poe’s, and _Aviator Jacket_ heads off to close the festival.

*

Ben doesn’t see her for almost a year after that. (And her band doesn’t fail, like he’d been hoping. They fly.)


	2. ii. blue

**(ii. blue)**

The next festival _Aviator Jacket_ plays is at a ground called the Base. On the morning the band is scheduled to leave – still in the Kombi, which Han has rather generously continued to donate to their career – the ex- _Millennium Falcon_ bassist takes Rey aside, leaving Poe kissing his corgi’s face and Finn loading the last of their equipment into the back of the van.

            “I wanted to say something before you left again,” Han tells her, as conspiratorially as he’s capable of being.

            Rey nods. “Sure.”

            “You might not know this, coming from the middle of nowhere and all – ”

            “ – England – ”

            “ – Gesundheit,” he says gruffly, and she laughs. “ _Anyway_ , I just wanted to tell you to watch yourself out there.”

            “I think I can handle myself,” she tells him, not without fondness.

            He sends her a glance that would probably have been its own rugged brand of dazzling thirty years ago. If she’d known her dad better, she’d have wanted him to be like this. “I know you think that, kid, and it’s why I’ve got to tell you these things. You’re not as anonymous as you used to be – you and Poe and Finn. Takodana was fun and games compared to what you’re gonna get at the Base. Lots of different people are gonna want lots of different things from you.”

            Rey raises her eyebrows. “Don’t you think I understand, Han?”

            “I’d be more likely to take you seriously if you’d quit interrupting.”

            “Sorry.”

            Han clears his throat. “Listen, kid, what I’m _really_ trying to say is – uh – look out for that… uh, what’s he calling himself these days?” After a moment, it comes to him. “Kylo Ren. That’s it.”

            Rey looks appalled. “Oh, don’t worry about _that_ , Han – I met Kylo Ren at Takodana. He was – ” She takes a moment to compose a thought. “He was petulant, and dismissive, and kind of _invasive_ , too – you’ve got no need to – ”

            Han raises a hand to silence her. “Kid, I think you’ve misunderstood me. I’m not telling you to watch yourself – I’m, uh… I’m telling you to watch _him_.”

            He sees just how confused Rey is and decides to elaborate.

            “He’d hate me telling you this, but to be honest with you I’m pretty damn sure he hates me anyway, so here goes nothin’...”

            Rey realizes she’s holding her breath.

            “Well, you know about Leia and me, don’t you? Got together, white picket fence, and all that?”

            She nods. Han’s never been great with words but he seems to be struggling now. He seems about to speak again when Rey hears –

            “Oh, hello, sir! Lovely to see you! _Rey!_ ”

            Han groans, rolls his eyes, and Rey bites back a laugh. Hurrying up to them in his warm yellow trousers and knit sweater, thinly rimmed glasses on his face, is _Aviator Jacket_ manager Charles-Patrick Peter Percy Oswald, or – as they have all taken to calling him – _C-3PO._ He’s from England, as Rey is, and she wonders if it’s him that kick-started Han’s faux hatred for the Brits.

            “Goldenrod,” the ex-bassist says tiredly (the nickname is the result of some in-joke Rey hasn’t ever asked after), “Whaddaya say to going and checking on the corgi situation, huh? I’m trying to have a word, bassist to bassist.”

            C-3PO looks between Han and Rey, his wide eyes sincere. “Yes, yes, of course – _right_!”

            He hurries off in the direction of Poe and BB, the latter of whom is licking the guitarist’s face. C-3PO is an avid dog-minder, having been recruited by Leia to look after BB since he’d done such a spectacular job with Luke’s pug, R2D2, on _Millennium Falcon_ ’s ’83 world tour. Now he manages all of _Aviator Jacket_ , not just their canine companion.

            “Sorry, kid, where was I?”

            “White picket fence,” Rey tells Han, snapping back to attention.

            “Right, right – well, you know the drill.” He waves a hand. “We didn’t quite make it to two-point-five kids, though. Only had the one. Probably because Chewie was living in the basement and we didn’t have space for any more,” he adds anecdotally, “but _anyway_ – Leia and I had a kid. Ben.”

            Rey’s heard of Ben Solo, in off-hand comments Poe has made, or when someone mentions the fact there’s only one person allowed to beat Chewbacca at board games. She’s never met him, though. She doesn’t even know where he is.

            “Oh,” she says in aloud. “Yes, I’ve heard that.”

            Han runs a hand over the silver stubble on his chin. “He and I don’t have much to do with each other anymore… I don’t think he’s written back to his mother since about three Christmases ago, but – he’s, uh, still involved in a lot of the music stuff, like you. You met at Takodana,” he tells her.

            Rey shakes her head. “I can’t say I’ve run into _Ben Solo_ … I don’t think I’d have forgotten that.”

            Han mirrors her gesture and says, “No, you wouldn’t have met _Ben Solo_. But you _did_ meet Kylo Ren.”

            Rey’s double take is so severe that her voice comes out half strangled. “ _Han, you don’t mean –_ ”

            “I do, kid.” He sighs. “I do. But I’m not telling you so you can blab it to the first reporter who gets in your face!” he adds quickly. “You’d be ruining Ben’s success if you told anyone, and he’s already got enough things to _not_ forgive me for.”

            Rey still can’t quite believe that Kylo Ren is Leia and Han’s son, because he’s far too dark and harsh to ever be a Solo. (Han is harsh, though, Rey tells herself. He’s harsh and he’s adventurous and he’s passionate, and she supposes Kylo Ren is all of those, too.) Then she remembers the logo on her tour mic, the logo she shared with Luke and with his father – _Darth Vader_.

            It’s almost cripplingly obvious once she sees it.

            Rey wonders how long Kylo Ren has been chasing the image of a grandfather he’s not allowed to own up to having. She wonders if she’d be better off beginning to think of him as _Ben_.

            Furrowing her eyebrows, she asks, “I’m sorry, Han – are you saying you want me to look after your full-grown son like it’s the first day of Troopers?”

            Han almost laughs. “No. I’m saying look out for him. He’s not surrounded by people who want to do him any good. And, uh… just between us, kid…” Han’s voice drops lower. “I know it’d mean the world to Leia if he came by, even for five minutes. She misses him.”

            Rey catches Han’s eye. “You both do.”

            C-3PO calls out to Rey, telling her that Poe is driving first and she can take over after they stop for lunch if she so pleases, and she thinks she spots a tear rolling down Han’s cheek, but he wipes it away too quickly for her to see.

*

The Base is cold – colder than anywhere Rey has ever been in her life (she blames her grandfather for taking her to desert-type countries every summer of her childhood). She’s the last out of the Kombi, and C-3PO has hurried off inside to the hotel reception desk, BB in his arms, swaddled like a baby in Poe’s aviator jacket.

            “Can’t have a shivering bassist, now, can we?” says Poe, pulling his and Finn’s shared suitcase along with one hand and wrapping the other around Rey’s shoulders.

            She grins at him. Finn joins them, with Rey’s duffel bag slung over one shoulder. When he notices that she’s cold – and it really doesn’t take him very long – he switches his grip on her bag for a moment and shrugs out of his warm, synthetic white jacket. He hands it to her without a second’s hesitation, just pulling her bag more firmly onto his shoulder.

            “There we go,” he says with a smile.

            Rey thanks him and puts on the jacket before locking the car and proceeding inside with the rest of the band.

            They enter to a rather disgruntled C-3PO, beside whom trots BB, the picture of canine contentedness.

            “I say, you three – the _nerve_ of some people…”

            Poe takes a step forward, concerned. “What’s up?”

            “It’s that lot from _Starkiller_ _Records_ ,” C-3PO complains. He begins to bumble on about the injustice he has suffered, and in the midst of it, Rey spots _him_.

            Kylo Ren is wearing black combat boots, crisp black jeans, and a woolly black scarf that somehow works with his black shirt and leather jacket combo. And his infamous sunglasses, of course. The only time she’s ever seen them come off is when he spoke to her the year before, that first day. He looks the same as he did then; he is as fresh-faced as ever, and his hair is still as waywardly manufactured. He’s like a black hole (and not just because of his clothing choices), filled with the kind of heart-wrenching gravitational pull Rey has grown to associate with persons of interest. He’s unique, though. An individualized universal collapse.

            The more she looks, the more of Han she can find in his face. Leia is there, too, and Rey tries to pull her eyes away once she realizes this is more than a cursory glance but they’re glued to him. Glued to Kylo Ren.

            Glued to Ben Solo.

            The name almost escapes her lips, but her conscience chokes it back. His real name tastes foreign in her mouth – much less bitter than the clashing consonants of _Kylo Ren_ , which demand to be said so aggressively. _Ben Solo_ is softer: it rolls off the tongue.

            And that’s when he tilts his head, lifts his chin infinitesimally in her direction, and she realizes he’s been watching her watch him, that he’s had his eyes locked on her since she walked in. Suddenly she wishes she had Poe’s arm around her again.

*

She starts calling him Ben in her mind, like she’s privy to her own, secret version of his change of heart.

            They don’t see each other after _Aviator Jacket_ checks in on that first day, and Rey’s carried off to sound checks and meetings and Kylo Ren – she’s adamant that she separate art from artist, if she’s to live with the fabricated vulnerability he’s unwittingly shown her – is hard at work on the set that will adequately (or, rather, outstandingly) lead the Base festival to a close.

            Sometimes she thinks she sees him, just out of the corner of her eye. By the time she looks again, he’s always gone. She thinks she sees him at the _Aviator Jacket_ sound check, and when she goes down to the hotel gym (she works out in three layers of clothing, because it’s so damn cold), and one time when she goes to buy a drink at the vending machine on her floor. They never speak.

            She isn’t afraid of him, even when Finn starts referring to him as the Phantom of the Opera (“Phantom _Menace_ , more like,” Poe chimes in). She knows that one word out of her mouth would destroy all of the walls he has worked so hard to build up. He wouldn’t risk that, not for anything.

*

In the freezing cold of her third day at the Base, Rey finds herself in a situation that could very well end up a mirror of the day she met Finn.

            She’s alone, in a more deserted area of a shopping mall near the concert grounds. She and Poe and Finn had decided to take BB out for a walk, and then Finn had got distracted inside a giant knick knack shop and Poe had gone in after him, but dogs weren’t allowed inside, and so Rey had stayed in the atrium with BB while the boys had their look around. Perhaps she shouldn’t consider herself alone if she has BB, but the corgi hasn’t been much help against the hordes of paparazzi who cornered her as soon as she walked parallel with the dollar store.

            Her first meeting with Finn didn’t include paparazzi, of course – neither of them had been even remotely known then – but it _did_ end in Rey beating three men to the ground after they attempted to mug her and steal the laptop that held the prototype of what would later become BB-8. The paps are giving off the same vibe, and Rey wants to be about as kind to them as she was to the muggers.

            They’re shouting all kinds of things at her – ridiculous things – and every time their cameras flash it’s another blast to her and to BB, who is barking at her feet.

            They shout about Poe and Finn, and the absence of Rey’s family. To that, she does not respond. (She doesn’t owe them anything; she’s not giving them any more of herself than the shreds of her soul that she writes into music. Their rumors about Poe and Finn are just as bad as the ones that surfaced about Rey and Finn, and then Rey and _Poe_ , when the band started gaining prominence. They’re unfounded, below the belt, and Rey is quite frankly surprised that they haven’t slung around a homophobic slur by now. And in regards to Rey’s own family, she decides that they don’t deserve to know about her parents, or her grandfather. _Especially_ not her grandfather.)

            They shout about whether _Aviator Jacket_ is working on anything interesting now or if they’re just one-hit wonders, and Rey finds that more unoriginal than insulting. They’re taking a break from recording to perform at the Base. She tells them as much, in a clipped, crisp tone that she hopes is friendly enough. They seem momentarily assuaged, but then draw in closer, hungry for blood.

            “Tell me, sweetie – how many Skywalkers _does_ it take to screw your way into a recording contract?”

            Rey lets go of BB’s leash as though it’s burned her, and the corgi runs off, back into the store that must hold Poe and Finn in its darkest depths. Her hands curled in fists, Rey stomps into the swarm of supporters, trying to find the source of that last accusation. She sees him, sees the smug leer he’s directing her way, and she’s about to jab her knee into his stomach when someone else beats her to the punch.

            (Or, rather, _with_ a punch.)

            What had been such a snide smirk turns into an outraged cry of pain, and every camera shutter goes twice as manic, gasps echoing like gunfire in their wake. The man’s on the ground, clutching his face. Blood spills through his fingers as the other reporters look on, aghast, cameras churning out hundreds of shots a minute. Standing over the bloodied paparazzo, mere inches from Rey, in front of her, a barrier between her and the reporters, is a tall, broad-shouldered man in all black. He’s breathing almost heavily enough to be hyperventilating, and his voice shakes with rage.

            “What gives you the _right_?!” he demands. “ _Why_ did you _say that to her_?!”

            Rey finds her breath caught in her throat, her feet rooted to the spot. She can’t believe her eyes, and yet she also wouldn’t have believed it to be anyone else. Of course it’s him _– of course_ he’s done it. Who else would do such a thing but _Ben Solo_?

            There’s another shout and the reporter’s suddenly up and shoving Ben, and Ben’s pushing back, and Finn and Poe and BB are running out of the shop, and Rey hears something scuttle to the floor in the midst of it all.

            She reaches down and picks up Ben’s sunglasses.

            Finn’s launched himself into the fray, forcing Ben and the paparazzo apart, and BB is barking at the scuffle. Rey locks eyes with Poe, whose gaze darts to the glasses. He’s concerned, and Rey guesses she must look the same, because a knowing energy passes between them and suddenly Poe strides determinedly into the mess, locking himself to Ben’s side and throwing both hands up, displaying both middle fingers to each and every camera.

            Rey jumps in to help Finn, who (with the half a foot height disparity) can barely keep Ben restrained. The reporters begin to clear out, realizing – Rey guesses – they won’t get the scoop they’re after, and in their hurry to vacate the premises before security is called, _Aviator Jacket_ makes their escape, Ben and BB in tow.

            No one speaks beyond curses and the occasional direction before they get to the parking lot and Ben says he’s got a car. They’re all still on shaky ground, but the offer of an alternative to walking back to their hotel after what has just happened is not one the band wants to decline.

            They climb into the shiny, black four-wheel drive, with Poe taking the driver’s seat despite Ben’s complaints.

            “I wouldn’t trust you with our lives,” the guitarist argues, as Ben begrudgingly hands over the keys. “Not in your present state, anyway.”

            Finn climbs almost instinctively into the passenger seat beside his boyfriend, and Rey – having just frog-marched Ben out of the mall – ends up next to him in the back. As the engine roars to life and Poe starts reversing, BB tries to find a comfortable spot in this unfamiliar territory. This comfortable spot of choice ends up being Ben’s lap.

            “Sorry if Beebee gets fur on your upholstery,” Poe says absently.

            Ben groans.

            Rey turns to him sharply. “So, just because I _have_ to ask, what _exactly_ was your plan of attack back there?!”

            He raises his eyebrows. “Well,” he begins, and his voice is as harsh as hers was, “to be completely honest with you, it wasn’t so much a plan _of_ attack as just a plan _to_ attack.”

            She scoffs. “Oh, right, typical. What a _grand plan_.”

            “I thought you’d be thanking me!”

            “I was handling it myself!”

            He laughs, mirthlessly. “Well, if that’s what _you_ call ‘handling it’, then – ”

            “ – I didn’t _ask_ for your help!”

            “You didn’t _have_ to!” he replies in the most stubborn voice she can imagine. In his anger and determination not to look at her he begins stroking BB absently, and the sight of it nearly makes Rey laugh.

            She knows deep down why Ben hit that guy, probably hard enough to break his nose. It was the taunting way he’d said “Skywalker”. Because, despite how hard he tries not to be, Ben _is_ one. It’s a fact, unchangeable. Locked into the universe. She remembers Han’s words to her, not four days prior, and resolves to be less snappy with his son.

*

Poe brings the van to a stop beside Kylo Ren and Hux’s shared touring vehicle and they all climb out almost immediately. Conversation has run dry, though Rey’s throat is burning with questions. Ben is still holding BB cuddled up in his arms, and the casual nature of the gesture throws her off – though that might have something to do with the way he stares at her. She notices it when Poe takes off his jacket to give to a shivering Finn. It’s not the first time he’s done it, either. Perhaps Ben watches everyone so intently.

            He and Poe undergo an elaborate exchange of BB for Ben’s car keys, and then he gives her one last, lingering look before he stomps off into the hotel.

            _Aviator Jacket_ exchange glances (and BB’s head follows Ben’s retreating steps), and then they decided to head upstairs. Poe and Finn invite Rey back to their room just to hang out and watch TV – there’s a special on planes that Poe tells Rey she’ll love – but sometimes she needs to be alone like they need to be together, so she peacefully declines.

            “Oh, hey, that’s okay,” says Finn. “You’ve had a big day. Just call us if you want to get dinner, alright?”

            Rey nods, pressing herself against her best friend as he wraps his arms around her. He pulls back and then Poe does the same, brushing his lips against her cheek.

            When Rey steps out of the hug, Finn’s eyebrows are furrowed. “Hey – Poe – back at the mall… why did you – uh – why exactly did you decide to walk into the middle of everything and just flip everyone off? Like, of everything you could’ve done?”

            Poe shrugs, the ghost of a laugh floating across his beautiful mouth. “I read this article a few years ago about how you can’t commercially publish pictures if people are using obscene gestures.” He looks between the other two. “Ren’s spent the past few years covering up his face. I didn’t think he’d want to be outed because his sunglasses fell off after he punched someone.”

            Finn nods slowly, content with this answer. Rey, on the other hand, notices that her jacket pocket feels heavier than usual. It’s not until she’s bid her boys adieu that she realizes why.

            She still has Ben’s sunglasses.

*

C-3PO finds out what room Ben’s staying in, with a few curt calls to the reception desk. It turns out _Starkiller Records_ have deeper pockets than the _Resistance_ group – or at least they spend their funds differently – and Ben’s room is a few floors up from _Aviator Jacket’s’_. Rey feels a little hesitant about seeking him out, but Han _did_ tell her to look out for his boy, so she hops in the elevator with duty to Ben’s father in mind.

            Ben’s room is down the end of the hall, and each step Rey takes towards it works with the thud of her heart. Why is she nervous? Is it because she never knows what to expect from him? That’s it. Certainly.

            _Hey, Ben –_ No. That’s her first step wrong already. She can’t open the door and catch him off-guard and call him by the name he’s renounced. He’d probably shout at her. And she’d have to shout back.

            _Hey, Kylo_ ­– Is “Kylo” his first name? Is “Kylo Ren” meant to be said together? In tandem? Ben really should have thought more intently about his chosen pseudonym. Why couldn’t he just call himself, like, “Henry Jones” or something? Something _normal_? Or just keep Ben Solo?

            _Hey. Your sunglasses fell off when you attacked a reporter for harassing me and implying that I’d slept with your family members. I am giving them back. Have a nice life._

            Of course, when she gets to the door and brushes her hair out of her face and straightens up her clothing and finally _knocks_ , the simple exchange she’s planned doesn’t end up so simple after all.

            And it’s Ben’s fault. It’s always Ben’s fault. All of the messed up timing, all of the ridiculous meetings. All Ben’s fault.

            She probably shouldn’t be surprised that when he opens the door he’s only wearing a towel.

            He looks surprised but subdued; his hair has been half-dried, as though he’s hastily rubbed it all over with a towel. He stares down at her now, his eyes widened yet still with that deep, intent focus, his lips slightly parted. She looks down, and can’t help but notice the constellation of moles that stretch over his arms and down his chest, dotted here and there over his abdomen. Of course, she’s seen him at the gym before, so she shouldn’t be too surprised by the fact that he’s kind of, well, _well built_.

            He regains composure before she does, and clears his throat.

            Rey blinks a couple of times. “Here,” she says bluntly, producing the sunglasses from her pocket. “You dropped these at the mall.”

            He takes them from her, their fingers brushing, and Rey realizes his fingernails are really, _really_ clean. Hers are usually splattered with engine oil and crusted under with sand. She can feel her heart in her throat and she isn’t sure why.

            “Thanks,” says Ben.

            “You’re welcome,” she replies slowly.

            She’s about to turn and leave when he knits his eyebrows together and asks, “Do you want to come inside? There’s a bunch of stuff on the news.”

            Rey is unapologetically puzzled. “A _bunch of stuff_. On the _news_.”

            Ben shrugs. “You don’t have to, it’s just – uh – it’s about today.”

            Rey raises an eyebrow. “‘Today’.”

            “The mall,” he says, in the sort of tone that people usually use when they’re looking away and shuffling their feet (and he may well be doing the latter but he certainly isn’t doing the former – his eyes, as always, are locked on her).

            Rey’s heart is thudding in her ears. She really shouldn’t choose to enter a hotel room with a very nearly naked musician from her label’s biggest rival. Though, really, would Leia and Han disapprove so wholeheartedly if said musician was their estranged, wayward son? And he isn’t lying about the news – she can hear the muffled sound of the television, and familiar, lilting keyboard music.

            Rey comes out of her reverie to find Ben in the middle of redacting the invitation and somehow her mouth opens and she blurts out, “Are they talking about the incident today or _Senators and Queens_?”

            Ben does a double take. “ _What_?”

            “ _Senators and Queens_ ,” Rey repeats. “Padmé Amidala.”

            _Your grandmother’s best album._

            Ben turns and cranes his neck to see the TV. He turns back to Rey. “They’re doing a special on her after the weather.”

            Rey asks after the channel, but it’s one of those special, expensive ones – the kind _Starkiller_ will pay for, probably just to keep Ben in check.

            “Do you like her? Padmé?”

            It’s strange hearing Padmé’s name out of Ben’s mouth. Rey suddenly wants to hear him say _Anakin_. She wonders what emotion she’d find there.

            “Yes,” Rey says. She _adores_ Padmé. “She’s brilliant.”

            “Do you want to watch the show? You’re welcome to come in, if you don’t have that channel in your room. I’ll probably just get dressed and then, like, read or whatever.” He then hurriedly adds, “The ‘probably’ was about the reading, not the getting dressed. I will – uh – I will definitely be getting dressed.”

            Rey narrows her eyes. “Good.”

            And perhaps it’s Padmé, or perhaps it’s Rey’s duty to the younger of the two Amidala females, but Rey squeezes past Ben in the doorway and stands directly in front of the television, willing it to play more _Senators and Queens_.

            Ben closes the door, apparently a little surprised by her acceptance of his request, and clears his throat. “You don’t have to just stand there – you’re my guest. Make yourself comfortable, if you want.”

            “Oh,” Rey says. It had honestly not occurred to her.

            His room is much more spacious than hers. There’s a full lounge suite by the window on the other side of the room – furthest from the door – and the large flat-screen TV currently showing a quick update of the weather sits atop a set of drawers, facing the meticulously made king-sized bed. There are bookshelves on emptier walls and a wardrobe that Rey guesses is filled to the brim with black clothing. The door to the bathroom is located in the little corridor leading from the room’s entrance to the rest of it, and opposite a cozy kitchenette. It’s clean enough, really – cleaner than her room at the moment. The coffee table is covered in papers and well-loved books; the rubbish bin beside it is filled with crumpled up attempts at – maybe – letters or poems or _songs_. There are clothes crumpled beside the bed, and Rey realizes they’re the same ones he was wearing at the mall. She’s not overly familiar with the appearance of dried blood on black denim, but she imagines it’d look something like the stains on Ben’s jacket.

            She picks a clear space at the end of his bed and sits herself down there. A moment later, Ben has gathered up the clothes he’ll be changing into and trudges into the bathroom to get dressed, closing the door firmly behind him. Rey lets out a deep breath.

            What the hell is she doing?

            Han a favour. That’s what she’s doing.

            Or at least that’s what she tells herself when the opening titles for the Padmé Amidala special begin to play.

*

He sits on the other side of the room, and watches her more often than he watches the television. It distracts her to the point that, during the third ad break, she turns to him and says, “You can come and sit over here, you know. I’m no Rathtar.”

            (The way he storms over – restrained, aggressively fast, yet still undeniably drawn to her – makes her wonder if he’d be better off if she was.)

            “Thank you,” Ben says quietly, once he’s settled into the spot beside her. He’s leaned over to speak and she can feel his breath on the loose strands of hair around her face, on her neck. It’s strange and unfamiliar, but not an entirely unpleasant sensation.

            “Thank _you_ ,” she replies, not quite turning to look at him. “You’re the one who let me in here.”

            “You’re my guest,” he tells her again. She wonders if he’s a closeted _Beauty and the Beast_ fan, for the amount of times the words have come out of his mouth.

            “Why do you like her so much?” Ben asks, breaking into Rey’s train of thought. He nods towards the television, as though to help her understand.

            “She was strong,” Rey says, decidedly honest. “No one gave her credit for it, really, but she was.” She picks at the bottom hem of her shirt. “ _Senators and Queens_ is a lyrical triumph, too – I once read a review that called it ‘determined rebellion’, which I’d agree with. Maybe she rebelled against an image she didn’t want them to present.” And she doesn’t know what is fueling her to spill the realization in her head out of her mouth but she continues: “Like her husband did – albeit much less harshly.” All of a sudden, the weight of it gets too much (the weight of _his_ eyes on her as she talks about _his_ grandparents in _his_ hotel room – and it’s all his, everything is his, and what does that make her?), and she sighs. “I guess the industry always ends up like a warzone.”

            Ben lets silence hang between them a moment, the only sound in the air the dull sensationalism emanating from the television. “Then what does that make us?”

            Rey is taken aback by the question, his willingness to surrender to her allegory. She blinks. “Hopefully more than cogs in the wheel.”

*

They sit a long time in relative silence before Ben starts to relax. By the end of the program he’s at least slouching, and they sit side by side with something almost resembling ease. When Rey adjusts her positioning, realizing that she should leave now lest she overstay her welcome, and what a weird welcome it has been, she opens her mouth to say so and nearly calls him _Ben_.

            “Thanks for – ”

            “ – Which song is your favourite?”

            He cuts her off as though the prospect of her leaving hasn’t even crossed his mind.

            “ _Thunderous Applause_ ,” Rey replies after a moment.

            “Why?”

            She would laugh at his earnestness if it weren’t so intense. “I guess because she’s angry. She’s angry at injustice, and refuses to be resigned to the fact that it’s happening. She’s got to protest, if only in lyric form.”

            Ben smiles, and Rey furrows her eyebrows. “What’s yours, then? You can’t ask me my opinion and then give nothing back.”

            He takes a moment to consider it, before hesitantly muttering, “ _A Path I Can’t Follow_.”

            Rey feels the shock written all over her face. “But… it’s so… _sad_. She’s so desperate – she’s practically given up on the person the song’s about.”

            “Yeah, sure, maybe,” says Ben, “but she’s still begging them to come back to her. Like, whatever messed up stuff they’ve done, she still wants them to come home. She still _loves_ them.”

            It’s a notion that Ben thinks she won’t cling to, because she’s not meant to know who he is, but Rey knows that he was born a Solo and a Skywalker and an Organa and she _knows_ a transparent motive when she sees one. She decides not to leave, not yet, and instead scoots ever so slightly closer to Ben. By the way his jaw tightens, she reckons he’s noticed.

            They talk a while longer: so long that the sound of the television turns to white noise and then fades out altogether. A large part of Rey is disgusted with herself, confused as to how she has found herself here, found herself staying, found herself forgetting even about her duty to Han and the fact that she really should be getting back because Finn and Poe and C-3PO are bound to be worried about her. A lesser part of Rey decides that maybe there’s nothing wrong with treating a person like a person. It’s a part of her she thinks was inspired by Padmé. It’s a part of her that makes her conscience feel like she’s just thrown up.

            She learns that BB reminds Ben of “his uncle’s old dog”, which she knows to be Luke’s deceased pug, R2D2. She learns that he hates Hux, but tolerates him; for the sake of the fact their collaborations always sell more records. She learns that the rubbish bins of his festival hotel rooms are always filled with lyrics he’ll never sing. She learns that she likes these lyrics much more than the ones he plays onstage. She learns that his cheeks go bright red when she sings a line to try and guess the melody.

*

Rey falls asleep in Ben’s room. She’s curled up in one of the comfier chairs, and while the list of reasons why he should not carry her back downstairs, sleeping, in his arms, is about a thousand items long, it still feels like a better option than having her wake up tomorrow morning and flinch away from the surroundings she had seemed to warm to tonight. That would hurt Ben a little too much. He’s not exactly sure why.

*

“Sleep well, sunshine?”

            Rey furrows her eyebrows, falling into the seat beside Poe at the table in his and Finn’s room, which is currently brimming with breakfast foods. “Does anyone else have a random gap in their memory?”

            Finn looks up from the peanut butter he’s spreading on his toast. “Which cantina were _you_ in last night?”

            “Kylo Ren’s room.”

            Finn almost drops his knife. “ _Rey_ – um – can I get a little context?”

            “I had to give him back his glasses. They were still in my pocket after the mall.” Rey pours herself a glass of water. “I’m not sure how I got back to my room, though.”

            Poe glances up from his plate. “I let him in.”

            Both Finn and Rey look at him, surprised.

            “Well, I was about to go and put your spare room key back on your shelf, but then who do I see tiptoeing down the hallway but a sunglass-clad brick shithouse carrying my tiny bassist in his arms like a new bride! Except – you know – _asleep_. I kinda thought I was trippin’.” Poe laughs. “But I let him in and saw him out and had one of the most awkward conversations of my life. _Side note_ ,” he adds, “I can’t see through those sunglasses. I know that’s the point, but how am I supposed to figure out who’s starting the conversation? What if we end up speaking at the same time? I –”

            “Poe – babe – I’m trying to process one thing at a time here. I’m still back at Kylo Ren carrying Rey down the hall.”

            “Which – yeah – he did,” Poe clarifies.

            Rey lets it sink in, and tries to focus on her breakfast, but can’t help imagining the buzz of phantom hands on her skin.

*

She spots him next when a group from Yavin is playing. His sunglasses match his hair and his three layers of clothing, and boredom seems to drip from him as thick and consuming as tar. The Yavin group is fine – more Poe’s scene than Rey’s – but Ben’s disdain hits Rey so strongly it almost feels like her own. They’re in the same tent type area, and she can’t stand the way he seems to hate everything, but just as she stomps over to tell him so, she notices the slight tapping of his foot in rhythm with Yavin’s beat.

            “So it’s all a façade, huh?”

            She slides into the place beside him, barely glancing in his direction, and he jumps slightly at the surprise.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            He clears his throat and she shakes her head at him. “I’m sure you’re allowed to admit to liking something. Hux isn’t here to make fun of you for it.”

            Ben’s jaw clenches, and Rey asks, “If you hate him so much, why do you still work together? Because it’s a one-way ticket to the top of the charts? Have you sold your soul?”

            It’s almost like he tries to turn away but can’t bring himself to. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

            “You’re right,” says Rey. “I _don’t_ understand selling out.”

            “I’m not a sellout.”

            “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

            “I’m _not_.”

            Rey raises an eyebrow. “So you _don’t_ just make the music they want you to and bring in money for the company execs?”

            “I’ve been writing other things,” he murmurs. “New things. Different things.”

            “Like what?” Rey asks.

            Ben furrows his eyebrows. “I can’t _tell_ you. You’re the… the _enemy_.”

            “Do you often invite the enemy into your hotel room for the night?”

            His eyes widen, darting frantically around the room, and he grabs Rey’s arm. “You can’t _say_ things like that – what if someone heard you? They’d get the wrong idea.”

            His cheeks are faintly pink, but Rey files that away for later. She glances down at Ben’s hand on her and it retreats immediately, as though she’s reached out and touched a sea anemone.

            “No one’s listening,” she says. “They’re all much more focused on the music.”

            It takes a few seconds, and then Ben says, in the tiniest little breath, and if Rey had been paying fractionally less attention she could have missed it altogether, “I wish I was more focused on the music.”

            Rey doesn’t know how to respond. She debates doing so, her jaw moving slightly with each new decision, but she stays silent. Ben does the same.


End file.
